The western sentinel. [volume] (Winston-Salem, N.C.) 1887-1926, 1887-11-03
PANDEMONIUM ALOOSE.
A SERVICE THAT Is ssA LIVING
aIONsTROUS HORROR
Gcd Is Not In rawlings, Not In Ceremo-
mics, Not in Intellectua; Flight, But

mics, Not in Intellectual Flight, But
Deep In the Soul.
John w. Hays, J7, h, State Chronicle.
! "Grace" must be a mighty good
! thing. By means of it one sucks
espiritual swerts from the most un-
promising substances, as bee gets su
gar from dry corn stalk, or a billy
goat satisfaction from tin can. There
are those who can read the genealogy
of Abraham, draw 4 long sigh, and
feel spiritually refreshed. With what
contentment mule will chew an old
sad 1le-blanket, with head lowered.
ears pendent and the expression of
peaceful serenity upon bis counten-
ance. Not that mule has grace, but
[ wss thinking of those whe doze
through Sabbath morning whiie
the priest drawls out the service, and
6, home with comfortable feeling of
fulness about their spiritual pauneh.
Yes, grace must be mighty good
thing.
But l was about to remark that the
editor of this paper nnst surely be a
man of grace. How touchingly he
told of those "people whom God
made" their primitive worship under
the spreading boughs, their prayers
ascending through the whispering
leaves mingled with Natures thou
sand voiced thanksgiving. Its sweet
ness touched the chords of the soul.
Let us fee from the city," said the
Soul "Let us leave these patent
stitched, machine made people, with
their stately forms and hollow cere-
monies. Let us go out to those
whom God made and lift our voice
with the voice of the bird, the brook,
and the grasshopper."
We went, riding mule.
It was night, and the full orbed
moon tinGing the East invited TO CON
temptation. What thoughts thronged
the shadows, mystical, strange, while
the mighty cliffs loomed up, and depths
of darkness lay around.
Oh would that mule had grace
Then Jack had not laid down in the
middle of the creek like a steer.
mystical shadows y Stuff What
is all this worth when yonr mule is
lying in the middle of the creek and
your boots full of water. The Soul
joined the. Body in rebuking the
| beast. But we twisted his tail direct
ly and proceeded.
/ Poetry does not come to a man
whose boots are full of water, not even
among mystical shadows, but vigor
does to the spur foot. Soon the sound
of voices was heard from the hill and
lights twinkled through the trees. The
temple was a spreading oak, and un-
der this upon rough boards laid across
fallen trunks few Of the faithful
were gathered.
| Our arrival was announced by an
usher mule and acknowledged by
Jack with due fervor. Then various
other animal notes discovered the
steers, colts and old mares tethered
not far from the altar.
"The voices of Nature" whispered
the Body. The Soul was silent.
| This commotion interrupted the
singing, which had been going on in a
peculiar whining voice, and the as.
sembly turned to examine the strang-
er who had chosen seat in the rear.
Every individual turned, with as fix
ed stare as ever befel a wax baby
while from all sides comes the ques-
ton audibly, "Who is he :" Where's
he from p whats he doing here p
interrupted now and then as some
man kicks hound Sinking beneath
the benches.
| The congregation is gathering
Steer carts creak up; old women with
pipes crawl out, young women with
babies, half grown girls with scrawny
naked shanks, small boys glorying in
suspenders. Coatless men straggle
up the hillside shoeless, with hound;
and cur dogs. The women settle into
place and comfort the squalling baby
with most maternal consolation, other;
seek the tin snuff box, and sticks are
in demand.
The men bite off 'chaws" and be
gin to squirt ambere. But every eye
is pinned upon the stranger till he
seems suffocating; turn which way he
will dozen pairs tIanfix him.
The strangers embarrassment Is re
| lievnd when the collarless preacher
rises.
"JIM SIKEsp
No answer.
"Jim SIKEs!"
"Here!" comes voice. He wa
. near a baby.
Start Happy Fathers
"All right.
Whether it were the ghosts of de
parted fathers he was about to start
or whether the preacher queried i
happy fathers could be found annie
that bowling mob of babies, was for I
moment doubtful, till Jim, with ;
burst of psalmody that might hav'
startled the Commanches raised a tun,
beginning with those words. The mi
tial note awoke the babies, one ant
all they screamed and howled an,
kicked. Yes, happy fathers owe
. yonder. The unhappy fathers joine'
| in the singing with many sharps an
flats. Harsh, discorda1it, the note
rise and fall, strengthened now an,
then by the mighty diapason of tn
usher mule.
"Now / W nts you sinners as 81!
over thar ter lisen ter these sarvices,
! began the preacher, when the sii,gin
) had ceased. This amt no place fo
Il > T.